As the 1990s progressed, “Byrd” Thorpe could look back on a successful career climbing the corporate ladder at IBM. Seizing the opportunities afforded by affirmative action and the gains of the Civil Rights Movement, he’d carved out a comfortable living with a decent portfolio of rental properties and a comfortable home in Baldwin Hills. Just to keep busy in the idle hours of his retirement, he snagged a sideline selling office furniture.
On the afternoon of Oct. 3, 1995, Thorpe, who had largely been the only African American in numerous work environments throughout the course of his career, found himself in the rare circumstance of being in a room with three other Black men (employees of the county, for whom he’d just finalized a sale with) as they listened to the results of the O.J. Simpson trial being broadcast over a radio. When the verdict came over the airway, the four men were jubilant. As they prepared to exit the building however, the county department manager intercepted them with the warning to suppress their emotions out of deference to the White people congregating around their downtown location.
“Stare straight ahead, don’t say a word, and walk directly to your cars! They just announced the verdict, and the White folks are mad as hell.”
Outside, the Black quartet solemnly strolled to their cars as the people around them gave them the “evil eye” and displayed outrage, shock, and sorrow over the idea that an estranged husband could blatantly butcher a photogenic former homecoming queen, the epitome of sun-kissed California beach blonde wholesomeness, and get away with it.
Workplace Etiquette
“White people loved him in ways that they will never love me. He’d dumped his Black wife for a blonde who would snort cocaine with him, and he’d gotten a nice house on the White side of town. Had this little incident never occurred, O.J. would have continued to be America’s favorite Negro.”
—from ‘What the O.J. Trial taught me about White people’ by Boyce Watkins, PhD., 2014.
Twenty years later, it is hard to conceive of a celebrity as lionized as O.J. Simpson (simply known as “The Juice”) was before his fall. Almost overnight, his persona as the ultimate pitchman with a sterling reputation (despite a phase of delinquency as an adolescent) was reversed with revelations about his predilections as a wife batterer and cocaine devotee.
In the annals of the corporate world, the working environment is an entity all its own, where upward mobility is impacted by myriad factors extraneous to one’s work performance. By 1995, Merdies Hayes had 10 years under his belt at the Los Angeles Times, and worked his way up to editor in the Display Advertising Department. There his duties ranged from copywriting for display real estate, and being “lent out” for editorial and hard news tasks. Like most employees of color, he learned to adapt to all the social niceties necessary for survival in a work environment comprised of dissimilar ethnic types.
“In a multiracial workplace race, religion and politics are not brought up,” he states flatly.
None-the-less, the tension of working in such an environment was clearly palatable on a daily basis, especially in terms of the unavoidable regular evaluations of work performance and of related accomplishments. This situation never escalated to the point of a concrete manifestation of workplace violence, ala the recent Virginia firearm homicide involving Bryce Williams aka Vester Flanagan, but still the specter of racial persecution was a constant when contrasted with the issue of journalist competence. In such situations, the question in the mind of those scrutinized was always, “is it my work, or is it me?”
The 1992 riots in the aftermath of the Rodney King acquittal of four defendants in the police brutality trial were still fresh in the memory of the city and especially the news organization, but as he remembers, sensible people did not bring up this hot-button issue in every day conversion.
As Hayes recalls,” you don’t want to lose a friendship or a working relationship.”
Throughout late 1994 through 1995 however, the ongoing murder trial of fallen gridiron idol O.J. Simpson captivated this media giant, along with the rest of the United States, whose television patronage reached historic heights with an estimated national viewing percentage of 90 percent when the verdict was announced, according to Nielsen Media Research.
One (White) coworker, the editor who supervised him, had a personally traumatic experience during the 1992 riots because she was forced to drive through the ravished city on her way home to Palos Verdes. She felt close enough to Hayes to be comfortable enough to address this ticklish topic directly.
Citing the aura of the 1992 calamity overshadowing the city, she asked him pointblank, “Merdies, do you think they’ll riot, if he’s (O.J.) found guilty?”
He answered in true politically-correct parlance, “I doubt it.”
Even in a large corporation, the atmosphere in upper management is dramatically different than life among the “grunts.”
Now the publisher at Our Weekly newspaper, Natalie Cole was then in the hierarchy at the Los Angeles Times, and remembers high anticipation mixed with a jovial ambiance at both editorial and management meetings. One day she went to lunch in a restaurant at what was then The New Otani Hotel in nearby Little Tokyo, a room saturated with patrons wearing the dark blue of the Los Angeles Police Department. On this particular day, the “Dream Team” of the O.J. Simpson legal defense chose this particular venue to break bread. As the lawyers walked in, a hushed silence engulfed the eatery for several minutes before those settled resumed the business of eating.
Cultural Touchstones
‘’I’ve got two words for you: Johnnie Cochran.’’ —Tommy Davidson’s character after being harassed by a policeman in the 1998 film “Woo.”
Curiously or perhaps predictably, folks at the newspaper began to speak more openly as Johnnie L. Cochran began his transition from local celebrity to legal legend by replacing another high-profile lawyer on the case— Tom Mesereau (known for representing Robert Blake, Michael Jackson, and most recently, Suge Knight) at the helm of the “Dream Team” defense lineup. L.A. County District Attorney Gil Garcetti (father of Los Angeles’ current mayor) carefully reshuffled the prosecution team by replacing William Hodgman (known for handling the McMartin Child molestation case), considered the top man in the D.A.’s office, with the far less experienced Christopher Darden, possibly in an attempt to maintain racial parity.
At any rate, the Times workforce toed the balancing act between natural curiosity and racial sensitivity as the trial droned on. Perhaps mirroring the adjustments the opposing legal teams in addressing the ethnic innuendos surrounding the trail, Times editors designated Black reporter Andrea Ford to cover the trial. She, in turn, adhered to the professional ethic of not revealing the proceedings she witnessed, admonishing all who inquired to read the following day’s paper. A wide-screen monitor in the lobby provided live coverage as folks filed back and forth during the lunch period, while the more curious could mosey over to the Criminal Courts Building just a block away for a more intimate vantage point of this judicial melodrama.
Black Los Angeles (in the 1990s) was largely defined by the customs and sentiments of a population predominately comprised of transplants of the Louisiana and west Texas region of the segregated south. In this, many of the older generation had been weaned on a one-sided legal system that rarely, if ever, worked in the favor of the heirs of former slaves who typically served as the doormat of the former confederacy and here in the West, where antebellum traditions continued in the shade of palm trees amidst the sage brush and agave plants.
For these Blacks, a no-guilty decree was a much-deserved break in the long-standing tradition of Jim Crow justice.
In the L.A. Times building, a large contingent of secretarial staff, virtually all of them Black females, burst into applause as the verdict was read. Most of the White onlookers could not fathom their reaction. Eventually the same schism in opinion was witnessed regarding anything remotely related to the trial, and Johnnie Cochran was alternatively lauded as the legal genius of the age (by Blacks) and (in the eyes of White people) the earthly manifestation of Satan, incarnate.
Initial reactions
“… the backlash against African Americans, especially the poor, will be severe. And the streets of Los Angeles that saw African Americans celebrating a symbolic court victory will see those same people protesting against real, political defeats.” —from “How White People Riot: Quietly, but Lethally, at the Ballot Box,” in the Oct. 11, 1995 issue of The Los Angeles Times by Roger Boesche.
The division was not clearly defined, however. After the verdict, one of Hayes’ co-workers (a Black woman) candidly told him she didn’t identify with the (former) media darling because 1) he’d thrown over his Black wife to marry a White woman; and 2) his most intimate associations were with the predominately Caucasian Westside residents, that facilitated his entry into the lucrative sideline of media pitchman for products like Hertz Rent-A-Car and Honey Baked Hams.
Couple that with the ebb and flow of employment in a shifting economy informed by myriad and mundane elements. At that time, the L. A. Times was experiencing a downsizing, which had begun prior to the hysteria of the trial. After the verdict however, staff reductions took on a vaguely racial aura where longstanding Black employees were given pink slips, often while their White counterparts with less seniority were kept.
In time, Hayes too was cut lose, with a generous “golden parachute” in corporate tradition—a year’s salary and health insurance. After several months of inactivity, he resumed his career with Black publications.
He noticed that mainstream support dwindled for Black politicians such as Willie Brown and Maxine Waters (Tom Bradley’s star had waned with the 1992 riots).
For Cole, the heightened energy at the newspaper reached critical mass on Oct.3. On the 10th floor, a large lounge slated for 60 people existed for employees to decompress and generally facilitated devotees of soap operas prior to the trial. On the day of the verdict, nearly 200 folks crowded into the room, making it a “standing-room only” affair. Upon hearing the words “not guilty” scores of people openly wept.
By then the whole working dynamic changed, said Cole as she remembers a White woman literally climbing over her in the cafeteria to get at unnamed condiments in the cabinets. Taken aback at this violation of her personal space, she addressed the offender with “excuse me?” to which the perpetrator snapped, “excuse you!” and went on her way.
Others in her personal circle experienced similar scenarios.
“They were pissed off at anybody Black,” she remembers.
“Bojoe Cabeza” (not his real name) prides himself on his ability to segue into any cultural or ethnic scenario with minimal difficulty or duress—a talent that has served him well in the precarious milieu of the Southern California job market of the late 20th century.
The mushrooming correctional/incarceration population during that time period provided him an occupational “leg-up,” because his racially ambiguous features allowed him to interact freely among the increasingly non-White populace that became a majority of the detainees in the California legal system in the lead up to the millennium.
After years in the Los Angeles County probationary system, he made the transition south to Orange County and a comparatively passive clientele of juvenile offenders. Even here he followed a workplace decorum of deference in a hierarchy of White “shot-callers,” by lamenting the travesty of a legal system that would allow a defendant so pathetically guilty to walk free.
Many of his coworkers however, were not so lucky.
One long-term resident of South Central had been fortunate enough to cultivate a thriving custodial service in the wake of the 1965 Watts Riots. White construction companies enlisted her to do clean up and detail work on their newly finished apartment buildings and condominiums on the west side prior to tenants moving in. Starting out with an upright vacuum cleaner, brooms, and a few mops and buckets from her personal ‘67 Pontiac, she gradually branched out to four trucks and a staff of over 40 people.
After the verdict was handed down however, all of her contracts gradually went to Hispanic concerns. Within a span of six months, the thriving business she’d grown over 25 years had evaporated and she was reduced to pawning her jewelry, her personal luxury cars were repossessed, and her house went into foreclosure.
Backlash: Choosing Sides
“The O.J. Simpson verdict is making companies less inclined to name black directors. So says Richard Ferry, chairman of Korn/Ferry International, the world’s largest executive-search firm.” —from “An O.J. Backlash in The Boardroom?” in the Nov. 5, 1995 issue of Bloomberg Business.
“The response to the O.J. Simpson trial verdict could intensify the backlash against the
African-American struggle.” —Jon Singer in the Green Left Weekly (Australia) Oct. 17, 1995.
“Within 20 minutes of the Simpson verdict being delivered, a Black drug addict stood in another Los Angeles court awaiting sentence for possession of crack cocaine. This was his third conviction. California had recently introduced a law known as ‘three strikes and you’re out’ meaning that after a third conviction, the authorities could lock you up and throw away the key. The Black addict received a sentence of 25 years; the same as Simpson would have received had he been found guilty.
“Three strikes and you’re out’ is sure now to generate a stronger appeal than ever in states beyond California. And it is Blacks who will suffer the worst of the consequences. Poor Blacksm, not rich Blacks like Mr. Simpson.”
—from “Poor Blacks in Fear of White Backlash,” by John Carlin in The (U.K.) Independent, Oct. 6, 1995.
As evidenced by excerpts from newspapers in and outside the United States, the fallout did not end with the trial. Although no concrete confirmation is likely to surface, circumstantial events indicate scores of people lost jobs and livelihoods in the wake of the legal proceedings. This trend likely found its way up into the realm of government and lawmaking, especially in terms of socially progressive legislation.
And so it goes. It seems that impartiality and evenhandedness were thrown aside for pent up emotion and tribal loyalty. Thorpe admits that he and his compadres didn’t particularly care if the fallen sports icon was actually guilty; they saw these proceedings as a respite from a rigid justice system that was anything but reasonable. Mainstream America turned its back on a man they’d previously elevated almost to the status of sainthood, choosing to believe that the arthritic, middle-aged has-been, possessed the agility and callousness to slaughter two people (including a man young enough to be his son), then remain composed enough to endure a trial without breaking down emotionally.
The trial told us all about how we (Black and White) still think about race, via the perception of a man who most assuredly was never the saint corporate America made him out to be, but more than likely is not the monster many now consider him to be.
Veteran photographer offers inside view of famous ‘Trial of Century’
Fighting for the Fourth Estate
By Merdies Hayes
OW Staff Writer
Among the hundreds of media personnel hunkered down inside and outside the Clara Shortridge Foltz Courthouse 20 years ago was one Haywood Galbreath, a veteran photographer who managed to convince Superior Court Judge Lance Ito that the Black press had a solemn duty to report on what was called the “Trial of the Century.”
He almost didn’t make it inside the courtroom. The traditional press pool only two decades ago remained reluctant and somewhat anxious about allowing the Black press into their domain. The so-called “professional standards” adhered to by “mainstream” editors, reporters and photographers did not always allow for persons of color to describe a more realistic view of Black persons under fire … particularly if they were accused of murdering two young White persons.
“I had to petition the court to get in the courtroom,” said Galbreath, who for the past three decades has covered both the little and big stories that pertain generally to the Black community. A stout man with a hearty laugh, Galbreath recalled the difficulties he encountered in photographing one of America’s most beloved celebrities who fell from grace literally before our eyes.
“The White press didn’t include us in the press pool. We knew that going in, but it was vital that the Black media have access to a story like this, because you have to give a proper perspective to what was happening,” he said. “Often, Black persons involved in great controversy are depicted differently in the White press. They’re photographed in ways that may imply guilt. One photo I saw was O.J. looking at [Marcia] Clark with a mean look on his face … implying to the public that he was an angry man from the beginning. What really happened was that O.J. was frowning at an inappropriate question of hers that Ito disallowed. That’s the kind of thing the Black press is aware of; we have to balance the ‘appearance’ with the true ‘reality.”
Galbreath said he captured the trial from a Black point of view, meaning that he was not looking for negativity. “Accuracy,” he said, was paramount in covering an event which drew legions of onlookers who were divided by race, by ethnicity, and even by sex.
“The mainstream press often wants to capture ‘our’ image and sell this to the White media,” Galbreath explained. “Therefore, if you make [Simpson] look bad in capturing his photograph, and you make another person look ‘good,’ who do you believe the public will trust? It was very important that we capture the true essence of the trial—what was actually happening in real time—instead of setting an agenda that fits a certain ‘mainstream’ narrative of the defendant.”
Galbreath took in excess of 20,000 photographs of the year-long trial from the time Simpson was arraigned to the day he was acquitted. The veteran photographer said he didn’t distribute the largess of the photos during the trial because the prosecution did not want the public to see a Black photographic perspective.
“I am an advocate of the Black press having access to the news,” Galbreath noted. “Even 20 years ago there was great reluctance by the mainstream media in allowing a singular Black perspective of events. Back then there was a tendency of only allowing the public to read about, see and understand an event like the O.J. trial especially from the perspective of a White reporter or photographer.”
Of all the photos Galbreath took, one very early snapshot may have represented a precursor of the inevitable fallout: “That was the morning that Johnnie Cochran was announced as lead defense counsel,” he said. “You see he and O.J. smiling together, and I always thought of that photo as an indication of what was to come.”
